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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26044264">Go</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowr0se/pseuds/yellowr0se'>yellowr0se</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pearl Jam</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, M/M, Slash</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:08:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,080</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26044264</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowr0se/pseuds/yellowr0se</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stone/Dave A slash ~ 1991-1994 era</p><p>This is an idea I had kicking around for a while, inspired by a few cute Stone and Dave A moments I came across and of course the infamous firing... I decided to do it as a one-shot, but let me know what you think as I could probably build this out  :)</p><p>By the way this is from Dave’s perspective, so as to be expected it isn’t very complimentary to Eddie. I have utmost respect for Eddie so sorry if this offends anyone... it just fits with the fact it’s in Dave’s voice.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Stone Gossard/Dave Abbruzzesse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Please don’t go out on me, don’t go out on me now</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t you want me</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t go on me</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Please…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t go on me</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>*</em>
</p><p>Green eyes. Under the stage lights the line of his profile was so clear - the straight nose, the high cheekbones. I used to watch him. Sometimes the one thing that would get me through the bone exhaustion of those nightly shows was when he’d throw a smile at me, come play by my kit, his attention all mine just for a moment. The way his smile would play at the corners of his lips, make you wonder what he was really thinking. Not about me. I knew that. He wasn’t anyone’s, Stone, not really. He didn’t preach like Ed, if he wanted someone he’d go for it, no big deal. I’d heard some stories when I first moved to Seattle, that he’d go for guys or girls, I guess it shocked me at first, I’m Texan. Not many guys like that where I come from.</p><p>I remember when I met him I thought he was something - tall and quietly confident, as pretty as a girl in some lights, dry as hell like he didn’t give a shit what you thought of him and funny with it. The kind of self assurance that comes from family money. He seemed to rule that place. Ed was still awkward, trying to figure out where he fit, with his fucking low-rider truck and patched up shorts, wild matted hair shoved under a stupid hat. It was Stone’s band - he was one of the princes of their scene,everyone wanted him to make it and he and Jeff were serious. After the shit that went down with their last band, who wouldn’t be? They still sound bitter about it, even years down the line. I don’t think anyone will ever really know what went on there. Was Stone in love with Andy? Maybe. The one time I hinted at it I thought he was going to hit me. That could mean anything, though. Andy took a hell of a lot away from those guys when he choked.</p><p>Green eyes. Looking at me now across the smeared diner table. He could never stay still for too long. Long fingers playing with the salt shaker. The eggs congealing in front of me, jelly-like, unnaturally yellow lightly flecked with black. We always used to get a kick out of how shitty life on the road could get, another seedy laundrette with ancient machines that swallowed your change and wouldn’t turn on, another gas station bathroom reeking of piss and overflowing trash, another diner filled with truckers, coffee so strong it burned all the way down your throat to your stomach. I’m starting to feel nervous. Neither of us have touched our food.</p><p>“Dave Abbruzzese.”</p><p>I don’t know why but the way he said my name made me think of our first time. It was the night of a show we played in England, first time I’d ever been to Europe and everything felt so insane, all of those shows blend into one to me now - the batshit crowds braying at us to prove something, all of us feeling that and pouring our fucking hearts and minds and bodies into every night. We’d get off stage and Ed’s chest would just be covered in fingerprint bruises like a used up whore, Mike would be bouncing off the walls - literally - just too hyped to come down. We’d already been touring nonstop for months and when I told Kelly about my hand, about how scared I was about my hand, he told me to strap it up and keep going. <em>Or someone else will.</em> I don’t think he said that - I’m almost a hundred percent sure he didn’t say that. The day we flew into London I fixed splints to my wrists and just kept on fixing them when they broke. I remember Stone looking at me at the first soundcheck, this shitty dive somewhere out by the sea that smelled of fried food and petrol, I remember him looking at my hands. When I finished playing he said, “Are you gonna play like that?” And at the time, I didn’t know- was he mad? Was he sorry for me? I swear to God you can’t tell with that guy. I just nodded, played it off.</p><p>After that he started to play me riffs he was working on when we were on the bus or backstage. We’d drink together before shows, I knew it pissed Eddie off even back then. Stone could fucking drink, he’s a skinny guy but he could handle it. He liked to play cards with the crew, go talk to kids outside the venues, flirt with the pretty girls. And it was fun, it was what I thought rock and roll was all about. And he let me in. I guess I could call him a friend by that night.</p><p>He played with his back to me most of the night, I was watching him like always. You gotta watch your rhythm section, right? That’s what I would tell myself, but to be real - I liked watching him, the way he threw his hair back damp and tousled with sweat, the way his whole body responded to the music, the thrust of his shoulders and hips and the innate rhythm of it, like he’d know how to fuck you. I’ve seen enough of his girls. Distressed ones trying to get his attention back at the clubs in Seattle, who’d talk loudly in corners about what a jerk he was when he didn’t give them the time of day. Red-eyed ones wandering down hotel corridors or off the bus, hair dishevelled, swollen lips. He didn’t give a fuck what Eddie or Beth had to say about it: it was part of who he was. Like I said, you only had to watch him play to understand that.</p><p>And then, like he did sometimes, he’d turn around and look at me. I smiled, I couldn’t help it. He got me that way. That night he was… Luminous. His eyes caught the shitty yellow stage lights that hit the planes of his face like it was all they were meant for. His hands moved effortlessly over his Les Paul like it was part of him. It was during “Porch”, Eddie was riding high on the crowd like it was a rolling wave in the darkness beyond the stage, I didn’t care if he never made it back because I was locked into this with Stone, everything he was giving me I gave him right back, we owned that primal rhythm and right then when our eyes met I knew he knew it too. I waited about twenty years of my life to play with someone like Stone. And here he was, on stage with me and I don’t know if it was the beat or the 3 cans of beer I shotgunned before going on stage, or if it was his smile - like he was happy I was there, like I belonged there, and I felt a lot of times like I didn’t - but I fucking wanted him.</p><p>I fucking wanted him. I never had those type of feelings before, not for a guy. That’s still true. He’s the only one.</p><p>He must have known.</p><p>When I heard the knock on my hotel room door that night, my ears still ringing from the show, bone-tired but just enough energy to drag myself from the bed to the door, I don’t know who I thought it was but when I saw him there, his long hair wet from the shower, the look in his eyes, I didn’t even say anything or ask any questions even once. I just opened the door, let him in, then used my good hand to pull him to me in the dark room and felt his dry, soft lips on mine. It was all need and frustration, something else too- what? Something like that connection we had on stage, his mouth and hands and body telling me he felt it too. He pushed me back onto the bed and kissed my neck and then my bare chest. I couldn’t believe this was happening but wanted nothing more. His wet hair trailed over my skin and made me shiver and get hard immediately. His calloused fingers on my lips, my jaw, my stomach, and going lower. “Stone-“ I half whispered, he put his hand over my mouth and used his other hand to slip inside my shorts and touch me. I groaned against his hand, he replaced it with his mouth again, working me with his other hand til I could hardly breathe. In the faint light coming through the shitty curtains my eyes adjusted. He was something - his sculpted face, the lean length of his body against mine. He pulled out the band that held my hair back and tangled his hand in it, kissing me roughly. He didn’t kiss like I thought he would. He kept touching me all the time. I was close already. I ran my hands down his chest, felt his erection through his shorts. We were both breathing ragged, didn’t know what we wanted. I ripped off his shirt and bit his shoulder, kissed his neck and ground myself against him. “I’m gonna come,” I whispered and he didn’t stop. I felt everything shatter in me as he brought me over the edge, not stopping til my last gasps. I wasn’t done. I wanted him to feel what I felt. I pushed him down on the bed beneath me and trailed my tongue down his chest and stomach, slid off his remaining clothes and took him in my mouth. I didn’t know what I was doing, hated myself a little, but the sound of his soft groans made me keep going. His long fingers tangling in my hair, the taste of him, the sound of his breathy “Jesus- fuck-“ - I haven’t forgotten any of it. I never will. When he came in my mouth I felt… proud. I felt shameful and horny and proud. I did that. Right that moment he was mine, completely mine.</p><p>After, he got up abruptly, went to get a towel and clean up. I lay there feeling more than naked. He came back and sat on the edge of the bed, his hand raking through his hair. I wanted to kiss him again, so bad. I hated to see that look on his face. I’d call it emptiness.</p><p>“This doesn’t change anything,” he said finally.</p><p>I didn’t know what that meant. I just reached for him in the semi darkness. His skin was so smooth and warm. His hair was drying in waves, so soft. I brushed it back from his face. He looked at me. Green eyes. “It’s cool,” I said quietly, with a nod. That was all. He stayed with me half the night but when I woke up he was gone.</p><p>There were other times. Always snatched moments, late night hotel rooms or out of the way bathrooms. I remember the night we got off stage at Unplugged, how hyped we all were, we couldn’t stop hugging each other. At that point Eddie would still talk to me, still hug me and tell me I did great, and I’d do the same, and he <em>was</em> fucking great that night, I still think that every time I see a clip. And Stone… I still remember exactly what he was wearing, tight jeans and his Ramones shirt, and he couldn’t stop smiling. Fucking beautiful. I never wanted him so much as that night. And when we found an empty classroom somewhere - it was in some old music school - I took the lead, pushed him hard against the door and crushed my body to his, made him mine. I can still see the way his green eyes went dark when I pulled his hair, hear the need in his voice when he whispered, “Fuck me”, and I would have, I was so <em>there -</em> but then somewhere down the halls I could hear Eric yelling for Stone and we broke apart, Stone shaking his head as if to get out of the moment, me struggling to calm down my breathing, my heart. I let him go first. I felt like if I went too, anyone could see what was going on.</p><p>If anyone suspected anything, it was Eddie. The guy never missed a trick. If Stone and I were playing music together, he’d find a way to break it up - I remember the first time I played Stone the chords to “Go” I was nervous, it was the first thing I’d written on guitar. Ed was in the room and he just left halfway through, slamming the door behind him. Stone had to push hard with the other guys to get it heard in the studio. I’m still grateful he did that. I remember him watching my hands, slightly shaking as I played. The way he really listened, understanding the rhythm and melody and making some notes on his little notepad he always carried in his pocket. I was so in awe of him. He was just a couple of years older but I felt nervous around him for a long time. I know I come off cocky, full of it sometimes, but with him I was unsure. Or, with all of them I guess. Each tour, each year I’d think we were finally all friends, I was part of it, then Eddie would chew me out or throw something at me and I’d realise I still wasn’t really there with them. The night I had to come off stage with my first ever panic attack, feeling like I was gonna die. None of them came to see how I was, I was on a fucking drip backstage by the time they got offstage. Later, Stone and I were at a rest stop in the middle of the black Midwestern night, sitting side by side on the kerb watching the headlights on the freeway as we waited for the others to come out of the gas station. I felt Stone’s hand trace over mine. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.”I was pissed at you.”</p><p>I looked at him then. He was biting his bottom lip. It stirred me. But I was pissed too. “Pussy.”</p><p>I wanted to tell him that this was still his band. That Ed was jacked up on his own glory and pushing us all around by now. I saw how frustrated Stone was at the VMAs, watching Ed tantrum like a little kid and try and fuck with anyone from the MTV execs to the poor kid who played gofer backstage. Embarrassing. But then I knew what Stone knew, what someone said once- Pearl Jam without Eddie Vedder is just Mother Love Bone with a dead singer. Back to the start. Stone wouldn’t go back there.</p><p>He got up abruptly and climbed back on the bus, left me sitting on the kerb. The others were wandering back, they didn’t stop to talk to me. I waited til everyone was on and the driver waved out at me to get back on. I got into my bunk, across from Stone’s, and turned to the wall.</p><p>“Dave Abbruzzese.”</p><p>I’m back here in the now. It’s been two years of this between us. We’ve never fucking talked about it. Are we talking about it now? Is it about the new record? Am I allowed to be excited, should I be worried? Like always I wanna know- how should I be? Those long guitarist fingers are fiddling with something around his wrist - a green knotted bracelet, frayed edges. It’s the one he bought the first day I met him, before anything happened between us, when we walked around the Market talking about metal music, about drums and guitar, about who we were - or who we wanted each other to think we were. When we bought the bracelets from this homeless guy selling them out of a beat up suitcase, I remember his fingertips brushing my wrist when he tied it on me, and I laughed nervously because no guy ever would’ve done anything like that in Texas and because I wanted this to mean I was in. I wore that bracelet everywhere - in the shower, in bed, on stage, wherever I went- until it fell off.</p><p>“We’re looking for another drummer.”</p><p>I concentrated hard on my eggs, noticing the exact way the edges curled where they’d burnt, the way the oil glistened on the plate. I felt adrenaline surge through me, the feeling I got when I was running a panic attack, I reached for the tools I’d learned to calm down and swallowed, closed my eyes, breathed in deep. When I opened them I looked right at him. Shocked to see the green eyes filled with tears. I wanted to reach for his hand, but we never crossed into that space in the daytime, and it wasn’t time now.</p><p>“We tried, and it’s not working.”</p><p>I can hear the emotion in his voice. Real. But the words are like a script and I can guess who wrote it.</p><p>“Wow.”</p><p>It’s all I can say. Three years. Hundreds of shows, hours of recording the same damn fills over and over until I wanted to kill somebody. Keeping quiet when I wanted to get mad. Nodding and playing the drummer. Last among equals. I sit back in my chair. Stone wipes his eyes quickly with his sleeve. In the cold morning light filtering through the smudged windows, he looks older, tired. His hair is cut close to his head now, he lost that pretty look. And he’s lost something else too - he acts like he owes it all to fucking Eddie. Defeated is what he is. I knew he’d never fight for me.</p><p>“I still have it,” he said, showing me the bracelet on his slim wrist. His extended hand closing that gap between us. I guess he thought that would be all I needed from him. When actually, I don’t even need that.</p><p>I scrape back my chair, grab my jacket. He looks at me and I see a flash of desperation in those green eyes. Fucking let there be.</p><p>“Kelly’s gonna call you,” Stone says. “Dave....”</p><p>I turn and walk away.</p>
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